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Once Upon A City: New era of hairiness in Hogtown

From wigs and perms for men, to long sideburns that angered hockey coaches, and productions of the musical Hair, the late 1960s and early 1970s in Toronto follicles were definitely in fashion.

In October of 1970, the Star ran before-and-after shots of the Argos' Tommy Bland, who wore a wig when he wasn't playing. "Bland, who is getting over a sore neck, may have a chance to wear the wig this Sunday in Hamilton," the paper said because he wasn't expected to play. (Jeff Goode Photos / Toronto Star Archives)

Ryan Benson’s approach to hair care in 1969 was to just roll with it. So it wasn’t unusual to see the Torontonian in a Yonge St. salon, head and sideburns wrapped in rollers.

And he wasn’t the only one. “Guys and dolls” were sitting side by side getting their hair done in the newly opened “Hair” shop, the Toronto Daily Star informed readers in July that year.

Men were having their crowning glory streaked, permed, curled and even transformed into a temporary Afro for the weekend, the paper reported, no doubt raising a few untrimmed eyebrows.

It was the dawn of a new era of hairiness in Hogtown. Yorkvillians were already letting it all hang down bohemian-style but elsewhere in the city, hair that crept past collars or sideburns that travelled southward were often viewed with curiosity if not downright disapproval.

On the face of it, a well-whiskered countenance might seem pretty benign. But sporting the latest follicle fashions was no hairway to heaven in the eyes of some. Toronto Maple Leafs coach Punch Imlach, for one, bristled at the sight of shaggy hockey players, including goalie Bruce Gamble, whose long sideburns were labelled “the best in hockey” by the Star.

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The style grew on his teammates, who were noticeably unkempt when they arrived at training camp in September, 1968. Imlach, himself barren on the sides and top, ordered offenders to the barbershop.

“I want you cleaned up — looking like athletes, not hippies,” he barked.

The hippie movement and its hair styles were alive and well by 1967 at Toronto's first love-in, which attracted between 4,000 and 5,000 people to Queen's Park "The hippies and the squares mostly stood around looking at each other. But there were love songs sung, guitars strummed and much talk of love," the Star reported. "The police were there in force-mostly to handle traffic as holiday drivers slowed to see what was going on as they went past the park. No hippies were arrested." (Jeff Goode)

Cutting remarks, perhaps, but nothing as harsh as the fate that befell Douglas Hamburgh that same month. The 16-year-old art student was kicked out of class at Castle Frank High School for wearing his hair longer than the principal approved.

The incident sparked a sit-in by Hamburgh’s supporters and an editorial in which The Star lambasted the principal for “petty tyranny.” After a few days’ absence, Hamburgh pruned his “Beatle-type” mop so he could go back to class.

The Star, meanwhile, predicted a new age of “spreading beards, bristling moustaches, and longer hair” with more conservative types adopting sideburns “as a sort of halfway house.”

But a promising young dancer named Howard Marcus found himself on the wrong end of a razor when he showed up for a National Ballet rehearsal with sideburns that reached his chin. Artistic director Celia Franca gave him the boot after he refused to trim them but he landed on his feet, whiskers intact, with a new job in Copenhagen.

Had Marcus stuck around on Canadian soil, he might have felt validated by a cross-country survey that concluded “sideburns are no longer restricted to ‘hippies.’ ”

The poll by The Canadian Press in the summer of ’69 showed everyone from politicians, lawyers and doctors to salesmen, clergymen and stockbrokers were either wearing sideburns “or at least have given them a whirl.”

Indeed, some prominent types had hair in front of their ears, including journalist Pierre Berton, politician Dalton Camp and Prime Minister Pierre Trudeau.

Men in the survey credited cheek fuzz with making them look older, younger, more masculine or in-style. Some admitted their wives were the motivation behind their ’burns, while others cited offspring who had laughed at their “square” haircuts.

But things weren’t always so cut and dried in the business community, which found itself wrestling with a best-tressed dilemma. If clothes could make the man, hair could be his undoing was the message from a downtown wig peddler.

Long-haired male job hunters often wore a short wig for interviews, claimed “Mr. Frederik” of the Wig Shop International.

“He realizes that long hair could hinder his chances with a possible employer,” Mr. Frederik observed, “so he buys a short wig to hide it.”

The proprietor said he was also selling long-haired wigs to short-haired businessmen to wear on weekends “just for the fun of it.”

Men who were itching to get a head start on the latest trends could get a sneak peak at Eaton’s new “Headline” wig bar. With trained stylists assisting in the try-before-you-buy salon, the clean-shaven could see how they’d look in a moustache, goatee or sideburns, as well as synthetic head-toppers in 14 “handsome shades.” At $35 apiece ($230 today), it was no small price toupee.

Torontonians in pursuit of hirsuteness were in lockstep with the hit rock musical Hair, whose lyrics in the signature song were rooted in rebellion: “Flow it, show it, long as God can grow it my hair.”

Reflecting hippie culture in North America, the production attracted the attention of morality police for its “four-letter nudity,” as a Star reviewer called it, when it opened at the Royal Alexandra Theatre in December, 1969. But the show, which was attended by political big-wigs as well as “middle-class, suburban-straight” theatregoers, received a 10-minute standing ovation. A scene in which most of the cast stripped naked in a blaze of coloured strobe lights barely ruffled audience feathers.

“Oh, it was wonderful,” gushed an 80-year-old retired civil servant. “They didn’t have anything like it in my generation.” He dismissed the nudity with nary a blush: “By the time your eyes got used to it, it was all over.”

Actor Kid Carson called the show’s jeans-shedding “the natural thing to do ... You just want to get up there and take off your clothes.”

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